Cane Adventure
by Fang323
Summary: Arthur's feeling much better, except for the presence of a single wooden object.  Alfred's too good at finding the stupid thing. A epilogue to "Learning Reliance".


Hey there, Fang here.

...I lied...This is an epilogue to "Learning Reliance"...

But it's only gonna be this one chapter! I swear! I really do!

I just wanted to do something with the cane...so I did something with the cane...Enjoy, I guess.

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><p>"Mrg…"<p>

Alfred put down the cup of coffee he was downing and looked up to find the blonde Briton rubbing at his eyes sleepily. He was standing at the top of his stairs, learning on the railing for support. Alfred grinned, already fully awake.

"Mornin to you too, bro!"

Arthur looked up in annoyed surprise, as if he had just noticed Arthur was in his house.

"Shurnrup-girt…" his half-mumble barely caught the insult. Alfred laughed, and poured a cup of coffee for his brother. Arthur shook his head, and then placed a hesitant foot on to the first step. Alfred immediately stood up and went over to the stairwell.

"You want some help, man?" The look Arthur shot at him should have burned him where he stood. Alfred stepped back a foot.

Clutching the railing for support, the Brit made his way down on still healing legs; Alfred ready to catch him if he even missed one step. Fortunately, Arthur made it down without too much incident, and Alfred let out a breath he didn't even know he had been holding. He held out his arm to the Briton, and the other accepted the help, and allowed Alfred to lead him to the table.

Once Arthur was sitting in his chair did Alfred return to his own. He almost chuckled at the Englishman, still foggy from sleep, apparently having a staring contest with the coffee cup and putting up quite the valiant fight. His hair was even more mussed, sticking out in not-so-normal places (funny…Alfred didn't even think Arthur brushed his hair…guess he couldn't be proven wrong once in a while.)

"That coffee's not going to drink itself…" he commented, jerking Iggy out of whatever half-dream he was in. Arthur glared and sipped the drink. He ran his (finally healed) left hand through his hair twice, and it was back to its normal look. A mystery of how that happened would never be solved.

"you look more tired than usual…" Alfred ventured. Arthur scoffed.

"Would have never guessed…" came the sarcastic reply. Arthur grabbed the paper from Alfred and shoved his face into it.

"Nightmares?" It was hardly a question. Arthur didn't say a word, and seemed to crawl up even further within himself. Alfred only nodded.

There was a #!*% of a lot of things that Alfred could help Arthur with, but this was one that was impossible to do anything about.

Arthur was rubbing his eyes again, and Alfred quickly refilled his cup.

"Dude! Let's go out for a walk or something, huh?" He said, trying to change the subject.

Arthur finally looked up. "Can't."

"…Why? The docs said it was the best way-"

"I don't know where it is."

Alfred was thoroughly confused now.

"What is?"

"The #!*% stick." No remorse was in Arthur's voice. Alfred just stared.

"….you're kidding, right?"

"Nope."

"….Arthur…."

"What? I don't know. Oh well, I guess I can't use it anymore…"

Alfred stood up from the table.

"No! You need that cane, bro."

"I can do fine without it; it's not a loss at all."

Alfred was already checking under sofa cushions in the other room. If Arthur didn't have that cane, he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Arthur was acting like he wasn't caring a bit.

"You just stay there, I'll find it! The hero is on the job!"

Alfred ran out of the room with Arthur practically yelling at him not to. Arthur finally sighed and sat back in his chair, bringing his coffee cup to his lips. He really did not want America finding that stick. Number One, he didn't need it, as he had said before, and Number Two, he didn't want another stupid comment from the American about the #!*% thing making him look old. Not that America didn't call him old on a daily basis, but the lack of a cane would bring the figures down to one digit.

And it wasn't like he wasn't feeling better. The wheelchair was back in the hospital where it bloody belonged. All that remained of his experience in the Blitz was still-horrendous burn scars traversing his chest, and the marks across his heart. Arthur's chest still pained him most of the time, but it was something he had learned to deal with.

He certainly did not need that cane. He could walk just fine, he told himself. S*it , he had gotten down the stairs with almost no trouble at all! (He didn't consider the railing any help…)

But, unfortunately, the universe was working against him again, and Alfred came back quite soon with the cane.  
>"Dude! I can't believe where I found this! How the f*ck did it get shoved under the air vent in your room?" Alfred looked at it incredulously. Arthur cursed inwardly. How the #!*% did he find it, he wondered. Outwardly, he shrugged though, and pretended that he was just as surprised, even though the violent snatching of the stick betrayed his latter emotions.<p>

Alfred simply sat down opposite him again with a knowing grin, and decided that silence was the best way to keep his head. Even with the gravest of injuries, the Brit was not one to be messed with if you wanted to keep all your limbs intact. He had already shown on occasion what he could do with a simple wooden stick.

Arthur had finished his coffee, and didn't look he was expecting nor wanting more. Instead, with more of a grimace, he braced himself on the cane and began heading upstairs. Alfred resisted the urge to help him up; Arthur was pretty capable of himself in the morning when most of his strength was replenished. At the end of the day was a different story, though. But right now, there was no problem.

Alfred had been with Arthur for more than a few months now, and even though he was feeling a little antsy for his own country, Arthur was more important at the moment. Roosevelt was fine with the arrangement, as long as Alfred didn't engage in anything that could be considered an entry into the war. So far, Alfred had kept his promise.

Alfred dumped the dishes unceremoniously into the sink and hurried up the stairs to make sure Arthur hadn't died in the last five minutes. A nice loud, yelling lecture followed his decision, answering his answer like a stick smacking his head. Literally.

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><p>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<p>

...this is the last one...i swear...Ok, maybe if I think of something to add I will-NO! I have to stop this series of fics...it's getting too long...T_T

Anyway, heehee...I actually wrote a fic that doesn't have any mention of tea in it...I'm surprised...Wait...no, "No Remorse" doesn't have tea in it...

Still.

Hope you liked it, Review at your leisure...It's just a fluffy bit of nothing, but it deserves love, right?

-Fang


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